


The Wheel of Fortune and the Tower

by ghostchibi



Series: An Upright Four of Swords [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, One Shot Collection, Post-Blind Betrayal, this is very Rhys-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-10-20 17:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10667790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostchibi/pseuds/ghostchibi
Summary: The Wheel of Fortune: major changes in life, karma, external factors creating changes in one's lifeThe Tower: disaster, turmoil, upheavalVaultie is defying the Elder, Danse is on the run from the Brotherhood, and Haylen is playing a dangerous game that's going to get her branded a traitor.That's what the rest of Gladius is doing. So, Rhys, what are you going to do?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rhys is gay and head over heels for Danse, sorry I don't make the rules
> 
> the chapters are mostly in chronological order but are more like short fics that happen within the same AU, so there isn't much of a coherent plot to speak of since these mini-fics happen whenever I get hit with inspiration for a specific idea

Haylen is too damn loyal for her own good.

That’s one downside of learning from Danse. He inspires the kind of personal loyalty that isn’t good for a Brotherhood soldier, something that goes beyond loyalty to your commander. The moment Danse was discovered to be a synth, he stopped being a Paladin and Haylen’s commanding officer. And yet Haylen remained loyal to him, loyal to Danse the individual, not Danse the commanding officer or Danse the brother-in-arms.

Rhys doesn’t understand how she can do it. Not only did she risk her own neck helping Danse escape, she’s still risking her neck sneaking messages to and from him. She thinks Rhys doesn’t notice, hasn’t noticed the holotapes that she opens on the terminals and then wipes immediately after, typing in her own message on the freshly-blanked holotape before ejecting it hastily and sliding it in her boot.

She doesn’t trust Rhys enough to tell him. Or maybe she’s just trying to keep him safe from the secret. If he doesn’t know, he can’t be implicated too. That seems a little more like Haylen, actually, but she also hears Rhys unflinchingly speak curses with his fellow soldiers when the topic of Danse comes up. He snarls his disgust the same way they do, disbelief at the synth could slip between the cracks, for so long.

He hates himself for saying it. But he can’t really leave the Brotherhood, can he? What else does he have? What else does Danse have, for that matter? It’s a thought that haunts Rhys, knowing that Danse’s world revolved around the Brotherhood as much as his own does. The new knight-turned-paladin, the de facto replacement for Danse (even though nobody says it, nobody makes any official change for the commander of Recon Squad Gladius) is taking care of him, as far as he can tell from the sneaking glances he’s gotten from Haylen’s exchanged holotapes. The Vaultie's the only reason why Danse is even alive, and apparently is leveraging knowledge of the Institute as the reason to keep the Elder from killing them both.

The paladin might have a shield, but Haylen’s going to get herself killed if she keeps that up. What the hell is Rhys supposed to do then?

* * *

Someone catches on, eventually.

Rhys is in the vicinity by sheer accident, actually, as Haylen’s arm is grabbed and she makes a panicked grab for the holotape yanked out of her hands. At first Rhys is furious at the sheer audacity that anyone, much less one of their own, would lay their hands on her like that, but his anger turns to terror as he realizes what’s going on. The knight gripping her arm doesn’t see Rhys from this angle.

It’s almost too easy to shove the knight off of Haylen and put himself between her and the knight. He can’t grab at the holotape in the other knight’s hand, but his own barked demand as to what they think they’re doing is enough to give them pause.

“She aided the synth that infiltrated our ranks."

Rhys has never been exactly all that gifted in the art of bullshitting. Haylen can’t see his face when he goes very still and she seems to think that Rhys is about to turn on her too; she begs Rhys to let her explain, but the knights in front of him already can tell that Rhys doesn’t need an explanation.

It’s _definitely_ too easy when he takes a swing at the knight holding the holotape.

* * *

“Nobody saw anything, but we need to get off the Prydwen now.”

“We can’t take a vertibird down,” Haylen says, the panic rising in her voice. “Rhys- they’ll ask us why, they won’t just let us leave.”

“Then we find another way down,” he replies, wracking his brain for a different plan. He wishes that Kells had positioned the Prydwen a little bit closer to the water rather than directly over the airport, because even at this height maybe they could have jumped into the water and suffered a broken leg or two instead of completely disintegrating against the concrete.

Jumping into the water wouldn’t have worked anyway. The only way down is with a vertibird.

Wait.

“We need a suit of power armor for you,” Rhys says suddenly. “The paladin’s suit is always on the Prydwen, it hardly ever gets used. It’s not a perfect fit, but-”

“What? Oh my god, we’re not fighting our way through the ship,” Haylen answers, on the verge of tears.

“We aren’t fighting. We’re getting off the ship.”

“What? What do you mean-”

Rhys doesn’t wait to explain. He drags her along immediately, knowing that every moment they stall is a moment longer for someone to set off the alarm. He has his own power armor, and getting into that isn’t exactly suspicious, but Haylen getting into the paladin’s armor? Very much so.

“Get in, and if anyone says anything _just_ _run_ ,” Rhys whispers in her ear. He climbs into his own armor easily enough but Haylen takes a moment to make sure she’s not pinching or catching any of herself in the locking mechanisms.

An aspirant starts to walk in their direction.

Rhys grabs for Haylen’s armored arm.

“What are you doing with-”

He starts to run.

He feels somewhat bad for blindsiding a scribe in his haste to get the fuck out, but this is a little more important. Someone yells for them to stop, but Rhys doesn’t hear the words at all. Haylen’s legs aren’t doing a great job keeping up while encased in the heavy metal but she’s keeping up without tripping.

They make it to the back of the ship with at least four people hot on their heels. A pistol gets drawn from behind them and Rhys sees the laser fly past his head.

“Haylen, JUMP!”

Haylen doesn’t even bother trying to climb over the railing; she takes an enormous leap over the railing with both feet, and Rhys watches her plunge just before he does the same.

* * *

Rhys swears softly to himself, and wonders if he’s fucked up his leg beyond repair somehow considering that the pain in it won’t go away.

Haylen is doing her best to support his weight but it’s exhausting to walk and have someone lean on you at the same time. Rhys tries to keep his weight off of her, but she keeps pulling him closer whenever he starts to drift. Damn the hydraulics on his power armor, they had to fail the one time he needed them to hold up. Without it Rhys knows he would have shattered both of his legs, but it’s still irritating him that it didn’t work the way it was supposed to. And now he’s stuck with this limp that Haylen has to help him with. They abandoned the power armor where they landed; the protection wasn't worth the slower pace, and time is far more important right now. The sooner they get to the Minutemen, the sooner they're away from laser fire to the back.

“Almost there,” she tells him. The sun is starting to dip lower into the sky, somewhere beyond the broken buildings of the Commonwealth.

In the distance, Rhys can see the stone walls of Fort Independence. The Castle, everyone calls it now though, and while it’s not quite the regal fortress that the word brings to mind, it’s still impressive. The walls look like they could probably take some very strong hits, maybe even a few missiles.

They’re close enough now that Rhys can make out the forms of people, somewhat obscured by the dimming sun and the mist from the ocean. The light in the lookout tower in front of the Castle’s land-facing entrance flickers on, and someone’s shadowy form hurries down the outside steps and dashes to meet them.

Danse looks much different without the Brotherhood uniform. Now he wears the same clothing that the other Minutemen do, including the hat that he’s removed at the moment. There’s a crude-looking laser weapon strapped to his back, something that looks suspiciously like someone took apart a laser pistol and attached some wood parts to it.

“Haylen? Rhys?” he asks in disbelief as he nears enough to see their faces clearly. “You’re injured, what happened-?”

“We may or may not have jumped off of the Prydwen in power armor, sir,” Rhys admits immediately. Danse’s face blanches, probably at the jumping part but also at the “sir” part. Rhys reminds himself not to call Danse that anymore.

“I was caught,” Haylen adds, trying to shift the blame off of Rhys. “We couldn’t get down with a vertibird.”

“The Castle has a clinic,” Danse says, his face showing that he's putting aside his multitude of questions at the moment in favor of getting Rhys help. “Here.”

He easily lifts Rhys up into his arms, and Rhys suppresses the undignified squawk that almost leaves his throat.

“It’s not that bad,” he protests, but Danse doesn’t let him down and he’s already being carried toward the doors. A few Minutemen question them, but Danse only replies with a curt “they’re with me” and the questions stop. There are stares, of course, two Brotherhood members appearing out of nowhere and being allowed in without warning, but Danse's presence keeps anyone from actually stopping them. Rhys loops one arm around Danse's neck to keep his balance.

“It’s good to see you again,” Rhys says. He buries the old habit of “sir” somewhere deep where it won't surface, and replaces it with something more personal. “Danse.”

“It’s good to see you again too, Rhys,” Danse replies, and his grip tightens for just a moment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't gonna post more stuff for this fic but I ended up writing more??? so here's another chapter I guess

It’s easy to get restless without anything to do, and there isn’t any paperwork to sort through (the Minutemen have no paperwork at all, apparently) or guns to clean (the laser muskets are an utter mystery as to how they work), so Rhys elects to sit in the doorway of the separated portion of the Castle with his crutches propped against the wall. The walls provide shade from the sun, and with few people ever occupying the armory (other than that one woman who chain smokes, looks very strangely out of place with a completely different uniform than the rest of the Minutemen, and doesn’t say a word to Rhys anyway), Rhys doesn’t have to suffer anyone’s presence.

He wishes he could do something. For the most part, the Minutemen at the Castle don’t seem to be doing much in the first place. Some of them come and go on patrols or to settlements that need help, and a few of them offer goods for sale. Rhys would offer to help, but it seems like the Castle is well-staffed and rather suffering from a lack of jobs than a lack of people.

The shadow over Rhys darkens, and he looks up to see Danse with a cigarette between his fingers.

“May I join you?”

“I’m not doing anything at the moment,” Rhys replies. “So if you want to join me in boredom, feel free.”

It’s odd to speak to Danse without formality. He’s not used to being on the same level as him. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say that he’s not used to the lack of rank separating them. Danse sits down next to him and blows out an exhale of smoke, his body much more relaxed than Rhys remembers ever seeing.

“Do you need any Med-X?” he asks. Rhys shakes his head; whatever liquid medicine that smelled vaguely of something floral he’d been given is doing a good enough job with the pain. For now the pain is more of a dull discomfort, perfectly manageable for Rhys. He reaches for his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, and his hand pats against his hip. No pockets. Right. Haylen has his lighter too.

Danse plucks the cigarette out of his mouth and holds it out in front of Rhys.

“Here.”

“Oh. Um. Thanks.”

It’s not like he hasn’t shared smokes with his comm- with Danse before. Trudging through the Commonwealth running recon meant that sometimes you didn’t get quite the comforts you wanted, and what you had you shared with your brethren. Sometimes it was a bottle of bourbon, sometimes it was a cigarette.

Rhys crushes the filter a little between his teeth as he inhales. Today has been stressful, between seeing Haylen nearly get dragged off and jumping off of the Prydwen and breaking his leg. He probably shouldn’t take it out on a cigarette Danse is sharing with him though, so he hands it back after taking another drag. He lets the smoke curl in his chest before blowing it out in a loud puff.

“I may slip up from time to time,” Rhys says. “About- I just need to adjust. For me and Haylen too. I’m not a knight anymore, and she’s not a scribe.”

“It will take time,” Danse agrees. “I understand.”

The cigarette is passed back to Rhys, and he takes another deep drag.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Danse says. “The Minutemen would be more than happy to have you, but it’s your decision.”

“Where else would I go?” Rhys asks. “Vaultie’s letting us stay. You’re here. The hell else am I good for?”

“I didn’t join the Minutemen because I can shoot a gun.” Danse’s response almost sounds defensive, and Rhys worries that he’s insulted Danse somehow.

“Do they really want me?”

“What?”

“Danse, you’ve always talked about doing good for the Wasteland and how the Brotherhood is the best way to that goal. The Minutemen keep saying they want to help the Commonwealth, so I guess you fit right in. I’m just here to shoot the nasty shit before it comes crawling out of the ditch and eats us all. I didn’t join because I wanted to ‘do good,’ I did it because there’s nasty shit out there and if we shoot it first, it can’t come slaughter us.”

“That sounds like you want to protect people.”

“I’m not shooting ferals because I’m being selfless.”

“You’ll make the Commonwealth a little safer, regardless.”

Rhys snorts, before realizing he’s left the cigarette in his hand. He hastily hands it back to Danse.

“The choice is still yours,” Danse repeats. “But I believe you and Haylen would be fine Minutemen.”

“I don’t have a choice. There’s nowhere else to go, and you’re here.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was a necessary part of that choice.“

“Of course you are.”

“You didn’t leave the Brotherhood when I was exiled.”

It sounds almost like an accusation, even though Rhys knows it’s not. Danse is just pointing out that his presence isn’t what kept Rhys in the Brotherhood.

“It fucking sucked without you there.”

Danse doesn’t respond to that. Rhys looks down, staring at the brick-tiled ground. He’s silent, but a sudden thought comes to him. “The Minutemen don’t have ranks, do they?”

“Just the General and the Lieutenant General. ‘Vaultie’ as you and Haylen are so inclined to say, and Garvey.”

“Good. Then you wouldn’t outrank me.”

Rhys desperately hopes Danse understands what he’s saying. When Danse doesn’t say anything to that either, Rhys lets out a frustrated huff and turns away.

“Rhys?”

Danse moves a little closer, and Rhys takes a deep breath before he turns around again to face him. This is starting to push the limits of his personal space, but he doesn’t pull back.

“Are you alright?” Danse asks, his brows tilted in concern. Rhys leans in closer, enough so that their shoulders bump.

“I’m tired,” he admits, and wonders if that’s enough of an excuse to keep Danse from thinking too much about him leaning over to rest his head on Danse’s shoulder. Apparently it’s not, because instead Danse crushes the burnt butt of the cigarette into the concrete and tilts his head to get a better look at Rhys’s face.

“What do you need?”

Rhys curls in and buries his face into Danse’s shoulder. Danse shifts, and Rhys feels a kiss against the top of his head.

It’s quickly replaced by Danse’s cheek pressed against the spot and one arm looping around Rhys’s waist. For a moment Rhys doesn’t trust his senses, doesn’t believe what he thinks just happened. But Danse’s hand is warm against his hip and Rhys doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until his chest feels tight, and he exhales rather loudly all at once.

“Don’t suffocate,” Danse says with a humorous lilt to his voice.

“Yeah yeah,” Rhys grumbles.

“And be careful with your leg.”

Rhys responds to that by lifting his cast-wrapped leg and draping it across Danse’s lap. Danse shakes his head and gently pushes it off, but he’s smiling and Rhys feels his chest unclench just a little.

“Do you want me to stay?” Rhys asks.

“I would… I would rather you stay, yes.”

“I guess that means I have to learn what the fuck is up with those laser muskets, then,” Rhys sighs, and Danse lets out a stifled laugh.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhhhh this one's short as hell and had exactly zero planning or rereading or any editing of any sort
> 
> kinda personal as well but that's not as important

Rhys worries, sometimes, that Danse is losing himself.

He opens his eyes and sees Danse lying on his back, staring up at the bunk above his. It’s still not time to wake up, and everyone is still in bed. A few people seem like they’re rousing slowly, but the silence in the barracks seems to muffle all of the sound. Rhys lies there stomach-down on the bed. The bunk above his squeaks; Haylen must be turning in her sleep.

“Hey, Top,” Rhys says. It’s strange to actually direct the nickname at Danse, when he’s spent years of his life with “sir”-s always attached to the end of his sentences aimed at Danse. Even weirder to say the nickname itself to Danse, something he never had the audacity to call Danse to his face. He never had the audacity to call him anything else, either.

Danse turns his head toward Rhys. He still knows that he’s being called, even with a name he’s never responded to once in his life.

“Good morning,” Danse rasps, his throat adjusting to speech once more. That’s a relief, after a whole two days of silence.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Did you sleep alright?”

“Cutler came again,” Danse says. It doesn’t answer the question, but whatever the dream was about, it seems to have settled Danse. This is a regular occurrence, enough for Danse to have started considering his dreams about Cutler to be “visits.” If it brings him any amount of comfort, then Rhys can’t really say it’s all that bad. But he worries that Danse might float off into that unreality one day, the one where Cutler Fija, a man long-dead, exists once more. That version of life must seem so much nicer than this one. Rhys can’t blame Danse for willingly stepping into it over and over again.

And besides, it’s just dreams. It’s not like Danse can control his dreams either, right? Even if he is a synth (he is, he is a synth, there is no “if” there is only “is” there is no alternative that Rhys can pretend is the reality he exists in), it’s not as if someone could change his dreams. And what’s the point? All it does is make Danse a little happier for a little while. Rhys can’t imagine an Institute scientist, with cruelly curious fingers and an overintelligent mind, would ever do something to make a synth _happy_.

“I hope he didn’t say anything bad about me,” Rhys replies. _Please don’t go chasing him_ , he wants to beg. _I can’t be better than the memory of a dead man. I can’t convince you to come back if you go._

“It’s just a dream,” Danse says almost forlornly. “He would only say what I want him to say.”

This is true, but it hurts Rhys to hear Danse admit it.

“There’s nothing wrong with feeling better from it, though.”

This is also true.

“I suppose.”

Danse tilts his head back so that he can stare at the top bunk once again.

“…he told me you were the kind of loyal I needed.”

“Huh,” Rhys says. He’s not sure what else to say in response.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's........ really short

Rhys lays his head on Danse’s chest, and listens.

He’s not sure what he’s listening for. He knows that under Danse’s skin is flesh and blood. There’s a heart in his chest pumping blood, beating away just like Rhys’s own. But what if it isn’t flesh under there, Rhys thinks. He remembers the diagrams of organs he saw from time to time; how hard could it be, he thinks, to make a heart out of tubing and rubber? It’s just a pump, after all. Rhys imagines what it might look like, thin tubes branching out of a squeezing rubber bulb and metal valves opening and closing against the flow of blood. Or maybe not even blood, maybe something else, coolant or oil, maybe even just wires hooked up to a tiny generator chugging away in his chest.

The fusion reactor outside makes a clanking noise, before resuming its usual hum.

Rhys doesn’t hear anything in Danse’s chest. His ear is squashed against Danse’s ribs too low from the heart. What would he hear if he really listened? Rhys lifts his head, and Danse’s arm draped over him slides a little from the movement. He can feel a pulse against his thumb as his hand wraps around Danse’s wrist to pull the arm back over him.

He lays his head down again, this time directly over Danse’s heart. He can hear something, in a steady rhythm.

Rhys decides he doesn’t need to know what exactly it is in there, as long as it keeps working.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has... no Danse in it at all??? I don't know why but I wanted to write Vaultie more even tho Vaultie is specifically underdescribed and not referred to by any pronouns at all to keep it vague and up to the reader to insert any visual description of Vaultie (who is starting to show a lot of similarities to Sole/the General from Waltz), so have fun imagining Vaultie as anyone you like

“You owe me a set of power armor, jerk.”

“Haylen was the one who used it,” Rhys answers, and Vaultie’s eyes roll.

“Haylen said that jumping off the Prydwen was _your_ idea though, so _you_ owe me a new frame and a full set of T-60.”

“Can’t it at least be T-51?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Cheapskate.”

“Cry about it, dickhead.”

Garvey yells something from a doorway into the Castle walls, and Vaultie calls back with a “one sec!” before turning to Rhys again.

“T-60!” Vaultie says one more time with emphasis, before turning and running off toward the lieutenant. It’s a little difficult to think of Vaultie being the Minutemen General, much less being in charge of a group of people in general; Rhys is a little too used to the dynamic of Danse leading him, Haylen, and Vaultie.

He never thought of Vaultie being all that hospitable, either. And yet here Rhys is, with Haylen and Danse, now full-fledged members of the Minutemen, all at Vaultie’s agreement. If the Brotherhood showed up to drag back and punish its traitor and deserter, Vaultie promised that the Minutemen would fight them off tooth and nail. Not that the Brotherhood would likely come knocking at all, considering the peace they needed to maintain with the Minutemen lest the Prydwen find itself with artillery guns pointed its way. Regardless, Rhys appreciates the asylum that the Castle grants, and his concern of being dragged off by a knight on patrol keeps him within the brick walls most of the time.

Oh, Vaultie. Rhys hadn’t been quite the nicest person when they’d first met. He would try to make the excuse that he was so stressed from losing so many people that he didn’t want to watch some Wastelander asshole die of stupidity too, but while that was true it didn’t really excuse his aggression.

“Hey, General!” Rhys calls, and Vaultie turns. “You want it painted Brotherhood?”

“Fuck off with that nonsense!” Vaultie shouts back, grinning. “I want it Minutemen blue! Lightning and musket on the chest!”

“Sure thing,” Rhys replies as Vaultie heads inside, request made.

Haylen is definitely helping him with the painting, if not the searching itself. Danse knows the location of a pre-War military checkpoint, and if Rhys is lucky, there’ll be a set there.

Time to repay a debt, Rhys thinks to himself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one gets vaguely nsfw
> 
> (it's literally just sleepy grinding, nobody's pants come off)

There’s a soft exhale as Rhys’s knee bumps Danse’s thigh. Rhys moves his leg so that it drapes over Danse’s, curling in closer so that their shoulders touch.

“I’m falling asleep,” Danse warns. He’s lying on his back, head turned toward Rhys. They’re both exhausted, actually, and Rhys wonders if he should just let Danse rest. But Danse is receptive to the closeness, rolling over onto his side and placing his hand on Rhys’s hip.

“Me too,” Rhys settles on replying. “I just want to touch.”

Danse leans in, apparently too tired to really aim anywhere because the kiss he plants on Rhys’s face ends up on an awkward spot at his brow. Rhys slides his leg between Danse’s thighs, their hips flush, and he gets a little curl of satisfaction in his chest at the way Danse’s hips roll.

There’s no urgency to it. Danse peppers his face with little pecks, hips grinding down slowly. Rhys rubs himself against Danse’s hip, reaching over and draping his arm over Danse so that his fingers can play with the short hair at the nape of Danse’s neck. Danse is making soft breathy noises next to him, radiating a sort of lazy eagerness for… well, whatever this is. Just touching, like he said, Rhys supposes. It’s good though, and he doesn’t feel like taking this any further right now. Maybe they’ll do that some other time when they’re less likely to nod off any second now.

The pleasure settles in him, not coiled and tight, but rather more like contentment. It’s nice.

* * *

They must have rolled over in their sleep, because Rhys awakens lying halfway on top of Danse.

He doesn’t remember who fell asleep first. Must have been around the same time, he figures as he raises his head a little. His arm is thrown over Danse’s chest, his right leg still between Danse’s legs, although it’s a bit trapped there now with one of Danse’s legs on top of his. Rhys feels an arm at his waist (and grins inwardly when he realizes that’s a hand on his ass), and carefully rolls off of Danse.

The arm pulls him back.

“Oh,” Rhys says. Danse doesn’t reply, doesn’t even open his eyes, but does respond with a smile. “I guess we fell asleep.”

“As you do when tired,” Danse does say out loud this time, eyes still closed. “…I think I need to change.”

“I don’t think you or anyone else can go outside in boxers anyway.”

“You know what I mean.”

Rhys shifts so that he’s lying on top of Danse fully, keeping his weight braced on his forearms. Danse puts his hands on Rhys’s hips with a bit of fumbling.

“Do you want help cleaning up?” Rhys asks. It elicits a great reaction from Danse, whose eyes flutter open against drowsiness into a wide-eyed look, and the grip on Rhys’s hips tightens just a little bit before relaxing.

“Cleaning up, or making a bigger mess?”

Rhys laughs and bumps his nose against Danse’s.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey this mini-fic series has a name now eyooooo

“Do you ever think they’ll leave?”

Danse turns his head to where Rhys is staring. At night, the lighting system of Boston Airport is switched on, and combined with the external lighting of the Prydwen, the whole area is lit up bright. Like a beacon of some sort. A frustrating, saddening, upsetting beacon.

“I’m not sure,” Danse replies. “They may establish an outpost here as well.”

“I don’t think they have the strength to split up like that,” Rhys says. It feels so odd to speak in third-person of the Brotherhood, that reminder that it’s no longer _we_ but _they_. He’s been doing it more as of late, just to get himself to remember that Brotherhood doesn’t apply to him anymore.

It’s rather late at night, yet neither of them are asleep. They’ve been here since nightfall, initially sitting down to watch the sunset together at the end of their guard shift. As darkness crept into the sky so did the lights from the Prydwen, until darkness enveloped the Castle and brightness burned through Boston Airport. Rhys feels almost like a moth enticed by a lightbulb, his eyes drawn to the flood of white.

And just like the moth to the bulb, if he gets too close to the Prydwen he’ll be burned too.

Danse tugs his arm. Rhys turns to look and is pulled to the dirt gently to lie down on his back.

“I’d rather look at the stars,” Danse says. “I think it would be better for us.”

“Yeah.”

There’s not much to say right now. Danse is silent as well, and beyond the low hum of people milling about in the Castle, it’s rather quiet.

 

The quiet is broken by a gradually increasing buzz.

At first it’s too quiet for Rhys to even notice, but he realizes that he isn’t just hearing people when Danse’s face shifts into confusion and concern. Rhys sits up just as the buzz gets loud enough to start to become a bother. A few Minutemen shout toward the sky.

The vertibird that flies overhead is a bit lower than it should be, but a safe enough distance abovehead that its occupants shouldn’t be able to see their faces. Danse grabs for Rhys’s arm to pull him in, but Rhys keeps staring up at the vertibird anyway as it flies past. He can hear Vaultie’s voice even from all the way on top of the Castle walls, yelling something insulting at the vertibird.

“Danse, look,” Rhys says, and points.

The lights at the airport are starting to dim. Section by section the power cuts own, leaving the grounds in pitch black. The Prydwen itself is still lit, its frontal flood lights switching on. The vertibird seem to be in a hurry now, making a beeline for the Prydwen to dock.

It takes Rhys a moment to figure out what’s going on.

He’s never seen the Prydwen in motion before from the outside. It hadn’t gone overhead of the police station on its arrival, and he’d been on board only while it was docked. At some point, he thinks, seeing the Prydwen in the air would have made him proud; such a majestic ship, a marvel of Brotherhood engineering, unmatched by any other in the wasteland. Now, he only feels sadness.

He knows that technically, he’s the one who deserted the Brotherhood, but watching the Prydwen undock fills him with a sense of abandonment. There’s a dread in his chest, the kind one feels as they see their last ride out recede into the distance. He has no right to feel that way, he knows, and yet…

Danse’s hand tugs on his arm again.

“We belong here,” he says.

“I think I’d rather be here with you on the ground anyway,” Rhys replies, and even though that fear and sadness pricks at the edges of his chest, he means it.

The Prydwen ends up flying overhead as it departs back for the Citadel. Rhys watches it as it goes, staring not in awe but with finality.


End file.
